


Saturday's Ghosts

by batty4u



Series: An Idiot's Guide to a Higher Education [9]
Category: The Avengers
Genre: All the warnings are only slight., M/M, the non/con is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batty4u/pseuds/batty4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve had just set down his keys when his cell phone rang from his jacket pocket. Probably Jan or Rhodey, or the coach making sure he was ready for the next practice. He glanced at the screen.</p><p>It was Tony.</p><p>“Tony are you ok?”</p><p>All Steve heard was choked sobs and whines of pain.</p><p>He grabbed his keys and tore out of the apartment without a second thought.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. The Subject

Tony, after an hour of telling Clint to fuck off with as much affection he could muster for his best friend who had gotten laid when he hadn’t, and another thirty minutes of panicking over what to wear, was waiting outside when Steve pulled up outside the apartment on his triumph bike. It was gorgeous, as far as bikes went, and Tony was sad he hadn’t noticed before. Well kept, shiny, looking almost new, it was a fine specimen of a bike and Tony’s urge to tinker was brewing.

“I would just like to reiterate,” he said as Steve tossed him a helmet, “that I am not stripping for your goddamn art project.”

Steve laughed and Tony had to take a deep breath to keep himself from flushing. God he was losing his touch with this. “No worries. Like I said, it’s just a portrait practice, for a painting I have to do later.”

“So I’m your subject?”

“Maybe.” Steve’s smile was infectious. Tony pulled the helmet on and hooked it under his chin. “Depends on whether you sit still.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Steve scooted forward so Tony could slip onto the bike behind him. “Hold on, ok?” Tony grumbled. “That means arms around my chest.” More grumbling.

Steve reached around and took Tony’s hands, pulling his arms around and holding them to the front of his chest, Tony’s face pressed into his shoulder. “Hold tight.”

Even through the leather jacket, Steve’s body was warm and Tony found himself almost melting into it. It was pathetic, the whole damn thing, Tony would never be able to live it down if-

He looked up. Clint was making faces at him from the window.

Fuck.

“Friend of yours?” Steve asked following his gaze.

Clint waved at Steve.

“Ex-friend.” Clint made a kissy face. “Who’s getting his dick removed when I get home.”

“Aw too bad.” Steve said returning the wave. “He’s cute.”

He kicked the bike into gear and they drove off, Tony flipping Clint off as they went. He could practically hear the bastard’s laughter.

Pressed up against Steve, arms tightly around his broad chest, Tony was more comfortable than he probably should have been. He felt safe, despite hurtling across campus and turning sharp corners at hazardous speeds. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of leather and autumn air. He could get used to this.

The art seminar was held in the old boat house on the eastern edge of campus. Back in the fifties the school had been the proud home of the best rowing team in the state, but now, not so much. So the art department had laid claim to it and it was now used for painting instead of boats. It was an old stone building, no bigger than the average barn, with a large glass door that lead out to the water, bathing the large studio room with crisp autumn light.

When they arrived several other students had already settled into their work, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Steve nudged Tony inside and motioned to their little corner by the windows.

“Who’s the brat?” a rough voice asked.

Tony bristled and turned, ready for a fight but Steve laughed. “Morning sir.”

“It is three in the afternoon, Rogers. Get a watch.” Then man was short and stocky with thick dark hair and sideburns and a mean look in his eye. Frankly, if anyone in the room were to go on a mass murdering spree, Tony would have put his money on him. “Professor Logan. You got a name?” He asked, pulling the cigar he had wedge between his lips away and smiling, or maybe it was a grimace. He offered his hand to Tony who took it with severe caution.

“Tony, uh, sir.”

“Pretty nice shiner you got there,” Logan said, tapping at it with a calloused finger. “Hope the other guy looks worse.”

Steve hadn’t said anything, but the black and blue lump under Tony’s left eye had in fact bloomed rather nicely, as far as bruises were concerned. He tried not to wince as Logan grabbed his chin and turned his head to get a better look.

“Damn, kid. Who’s ass did you grab for that one?” He asked.

“Someone grabbed his,” Steve said. Tony glared at him. “In a manner of speaking.”

“You rough him up?” Logan asked as Steve went about getting his supplies and setting up the easel. “I hope you did.”

“Why do you give a shit?”

Logan grinned, a menacing grin. “Because I don’t like it when my kids are roughed up.”

“I’m not your kid.”

“Nah you’re Rogers’. But since you’re his and he’s one of mine that means in some way shape or form you are also mine and I don’t like it when you brats come in beaten and bruised.” He tapped at the bruise again. “You give him one to match?”

“What makes you think it’s a him?”

“Cause a chick would have aimed a lot lower, kid.”

“Good point.”

“Did you?” Logan’s eyes scanned Tony’s face, a surprising seriousness in his features. It made him intimidating, despite him being Tony’s height, but Tony wasn’t really scared anymore. He didn’t flinch when Logan touched his face again.

“No.”

“Did Rogers?”

“He wasn’t there. A friend of mine scared him off though.”

“You didn’t land a punch?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

“Not everyone can knock someone out in one punch, professor.” Steve set the easel in place. “When you’re ready Tony.”

Logan put a hand on his shoulder as he turned away. “See me before you leave, kay?”

“Sure.”

Now came the hard part. He had to sit still while Steve drew, something Tony had never been good at, ever. He fiddled with his jeans and tried to solve basic math problems in his head as Steve worked. The only chatter between them was when Steve asked him to shift or reminded him to hold still. And that meant Tony had to be alone with his thoughts the rest of the time, and they had two more hours to go. It only took a few minutes for his thoughts to turn sour.

Why were people giving a shit all of a sudden? Why did Steve care? Why did this Professor care when they’d only just met? Why had Jarvis showed up two days early? God he hated it. No, he didn’t hate it, he just wasn’t used to it. He’d been left to his own devices for years and he more or less liked it that way. Pepper and Rhodey had always sort of been there, never really getting involved but still managing to keep him alive. Clint had been a wondrous accident and the closest thing Tony had ever had to a boyfriend. It was more of a best friends with the occasional benefit of lonely fondling and blowjobs. And Clint was the only one who knew why they hadn’t gone past that. God the fact he was still so worried about it pissed him off and terrified him. He hadn’t seen Obidiah in two years, he had avoided home and holiday parties and anything related to Stark Industries like the goddamn plague and he could still smell the cigars and the whiskey, feel the leathery hand on his neck and-

“Tony?”

The dark office, Obidiah looming over him, holding him down, spiteful angry words, death threats should he tell. Knuckles connecting with his face, the ugly black stone on his ring visibly imprinted in the newly forming bruise.

“Hey, Tony.”

He still had pictures, the goddamn pictures Jarvis had taken to use as proof for when he told his parents. Tony had begged him not to and Jarvis, being the man he was, obliged, but Tony still had the goddamn photos.

“Tony!”

He jumped as Steve’s hands cupped his face. He lashed out, arms flailing as he tried to bat Steve away. Instead of grabbing for his wrists the way Tony had expected, he backed away to give Tony space. His chest hurts, hands shaking. He could taste the sharp bitter sting of blood from his lip that he had gnawed open.

“Tony what do you need?” Steve asked gently, trying to calm him down without touching him. Tony babbled, shaking his head. If he just waited a bit longer the attack would subside.

He yelped when a bottle of ice water was dumped over his head. The shock sent his mind reeling, waking him from the attack.

Logan stood over him, bottle in hand. “Best try breathing, kid.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” Steve said, glaring up at him but Logan just shrugged.

“Well it was either that or we cart him to the infirmary and I’m not going anywhere near that goddamn place. Besides, he’s fine.” Logan patted Tony’s head lightly and Tony took a long shuddering breath. “See? No lasting damage.”

“That shit was cold.” Tony choked out and Logan laughed.

“Why don’t you two pack up? There’s only half an hour left anyway and you clearly need some rest.” He signed something, a small blue slip of paper and handed it to Steve.

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m Santa Claus.”

“You sure, Prof?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, go on home. You,” He tapped Tony on the head, “come with me a sec.”

Tony got to his feet and followed, legs still uneasy. Logan stepped out to the back dock that over looked the lake.

“You ever take self defense classes?” He asked when Tony joined him.

“Not really. Some martial arts as a kid. Why?”

“I teach a mixed martial arts class twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ve got all kinds of kids, beginners and wannabes trying to go pro. It might be good for you, taking some classes, learning how to pummel someone. Learning self-discipline, how to manage your attacks.”

“I don’t have-”

“Bullshit, don’t start.”

“Why do you give a shit?”

Logan gave him a once over. “Rogers likes you. He’s a good kid who’s been handed far too much shit for one person. He deserves something good and you’re probably that something good. I look out for my kids. You’re sort of becoming one of them.”

“I’ve only just met you I might not even come back.”

“You will.” Logan smiled, voice full of certainty. “I saw the way he looked at you, the way an artist looks at something they find truly beautiful. Something comes over them, a trance and nothing else exists except for their subject. That is when you know the artist truly loves what they are working on, when they lose themselves completely in it, ignoring the outside world. Rogers cares for you, why is beyond me, but he does. Enough to make you his subject and when an artist chooses a subject, after years of being handed assignments or commissions, the first subject they choose is always special.”

He patted Tony’s shoulder. “You’re his first subject, Kid. So I get the feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Tony wasn’t sure how to feel, his post-attack brain was still trying to process what Logan had told him.

Steve… Steve loved him? In a weird artistic way, he actually loved him?”

“So, I want you to come by on Tuesday. We meet at the old boxing center on Fifth and Jameson at 6 o’clock. Be there.” Logan ruffled his hair and strode back inside, leaving Tony to stare dumbfounded at the water.

Steve loved him?

Him?

Nah, there was no way.

Could he?


	2. Monsters under the Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had just set down his keys when his cell phone rang from his jacket pocket. Probably Jan or Rhodey, or the coach making sure he was ready for the next practice. He glanced at the screen.
> 
> It was Tony.
> 
> “Tony are you ok?”
> 
> All Steve heard was choked sobs and whines of pain.
> 
> He grabbed his keys and tore out of the apartment without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up guys, there's a heavy dose of abuse mentioned in this chapter, both physical and sexual.   
> Just tread carefully if that bothers you.

They had dinner at the diner on the corner, burgers and fries on Steve who was surprisingly quiet through the whole ordeal. Tony picked at his food, thanked him more than he usually would have, trying to get Logan’s stupid words out of his head. There was no way. No, it was all a sick joke between artists or something.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Who’s Obie?”

The air in the room grew heavy, Tony’s chest seizing up. Well he figured this was coming. The nightmares and an attack and Steve apparently cared so why was he surprised?

Because no one ever asked.

“What do you mean?”

Steve sighed and leaned in closer. “Who is Obie? You kept saying his name during your nightmares, and when you said them you sounded scared. You said his name at the seminar too, just as your attack started. Who is he?”

Tony took a deep breath. “Why?”

“What do you-”

“Why do you want to know?” Tony asked. His voice had gotten that sharp edge to it. He tried to keep calm. Obie was just such a shitty topic.

“Because I care about you.”

Tony stared at him. “Really?”

“Yes. I thought that was somewhat obvious.” Steve sighed. “Or did my phone call inviting you to a private art seminar or the fact I stayed next to you until three am last night not make that fairly clear?”

“You… You stayed?”

“Until Jarvis said I should go home. I would have stayed longer, been there when you woke up, but that butler of yours is very persistent.” Steve ran a hand through his short blond hair. “I care about you Tony. You’re a nice person, despite your snark.”

“You’ve only known me for three days.”

“And in those three days I’ve apparently seen sides of you no one else has. I think that’s enough of a foundation for at least a friendship.” He reached out and gave Tony’s hand a squeeze. “You can trust me, Tony.”

And how Tony wanted to.

“Who is he?”

“My… My dad’s business partner. Obadiah Stane.” Tony closed his eyes and his grip on Steve’s hand tightened. “He… We’ve never had a good relationship. He was supposed to be the heir to the company, if anything happened to my dad. Then I was born. The man holds a grudge like nobody’s business, if you know what I mean.”

Steve just nodded, eyes focused on him and him alone, hand not moving from his slowly tightening grip.

“He… Well when I was seven or so, one night at a party and everyone got pretty drunk and he got me alone and well…” how did he explain this part? “He roughed me… roughed me up a bit, is all.”

“Was that the only time?”

Tony shook his head. “Nah, happened a lot more actually, more and more as I got older and apparently could take it like a man… And he uh… Well it didn’t stop at punches.”

Tony glanced up at Steve’s face and felt himself want to pull away. Steve’s light blue eyes were dark and narrowed, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. He looked ready for blood.

“How bad did it get?” He asked in a low, menacing voice that made Tony shiver.

“I… I went to the hospital one time. Was, uh… really bruised a few others, hurt to walk and stuff.” Tony’s eyes stung. “But hey, I haven’t seen him in ages, it’s not a big deal.” He tried to smile for Steve but it was broken and weak.

“Did your dad ever do anything?”

Tony let out a bitter laugh. “My dad thinks I’m as important as the mud on your shoes, Steve. And my mom tends to forget she has a son.” He patted Steve’s hand. “Can we, you know, change the topic for a bit? Please?”

Steve considered him a moment and Tony could see more question building up. But he nodded. “What’d you think of Professor Logan?” his voice was calm and more or less normal, but Tony didn’t miss the way he mutilated his left over fries as they talked.

Dinner ended and Obie wasn’t brought up again. Steve drove them back to the apartment and walked Tony up to his door, something a date hadn’t done for Tony since freshman year of high school. Steve stood there with him, Tony’s eyes on his shoes, Steve watching him, hands shoved in his pockets.

Hooray for awkwardness.

“Uh, thanks for dinner and stuff,” Tony said, shifting his feet. “It was cool.”

Steve nodded. “And thanks for holding still while I drew you. Are you busy next Saturday?”

“Nah, I’m usually free.”

“Great,” Steve smiled and Tony’s stomach fluttered. “Then same thing next weekend?”

“Why not?”

Did they hug? Did they shake hands? God forbid they kiss.

Steve, now that the silence had been broken, took no time in pulling Tony into a tight hug, arms around him. Tony buried his face in Steve’s chest, breathing in his scent. God no one should have been that warm or felt that good.

“If you need me, for anything, call me,” Steve whispered. “I mean it, Tony, even if you just want to talk, or not talk, hell I’ll sit on the phone and listen to you not talk if it meant you were ok.” He lifted Tony’s chin so he was looking up at him. “I mean it. Call me, ok?”

“Ok.” Tony even managed a smile.

Steve leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s lips. No tongue, no force, no intrusion, just a simple, gentle, slow kiss that left Tony’s whole body tingling.

“Sleep well Tony.” Steve hugged him again and turned to go, tony standing there in shock.

“Steve?”

“Hm?” he turned back to Tony.

“You’re a good kisser.”

And Tony got to see that smile one more time before Steve left and Tony wandered into the empty apartment. Rhodey was probably out with his frat friends, leaving Tony to watch TV, tinker or just go to bed.

He should have just done that, something other than wander into his room and start digging through his desk drawers, tossing out folders and notebooks until he pulled out a small manila folder from the bottom of the last drawer.

He should have taken the folder and thrown it out, just like he should have every goddamn time he pulled it out. He should have burned it, gotten it as far away from him as possible.

But Tony was probably some sort of masochist. He had to be, because he sat down on his mattress and opened the folder, his own bloody and bruised face staring up at him from vivid color photographs.

He should have burned them.

*

Steve had just set down his keys when his cell phone rang from his jacket pocket. Probably Jan or Rhodey, or the coach making sure he was ready for the next practice. He glanced at the screen.

It was Tony.

“Tony are you ok?”

All Steve heard was choked sobs and whines of pain.

He grabbed his keys and tore out of the apartment without a second thought.

*

Steve found the apartment door unlocked and Tony lying in a heap in his room, body shaking, photos strewn across the mattress.

“Oh god, Tony, what happened?” he asked dropping down to help him up. Tony wailed and curled into him, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Shush, I’m here, its ok.”

Steve grabbed for the closest picture to see what had upset him. In it, Tony couldn’t have been more than ten, his face swollen and bruised, his left eyes red and swollen shut, lips busted, a clear impression of a ring on his right cheek. His eyes, the only one Steve could see, was filled with a dread, the only kind that came with the acceptance of defeat, of loss, of weakness.

At least twenty photos, maybe more, all of Tony’s body, beaten, abused, broken and capture in vibrant color as a solid, everlasting reminder of what he had been through. One picture very clearly explained to Steve why Tony didn’t want people touching his hips or thighs, the bruises there couldn’t have been better impressions of hand prints if you had painted them on.

Notes were scribbled on some of them, the mug shot of Tony’s face commenting that it was the first and last time Obadiah had struck him in the face. Other notes detailed the extent of Tony’s injuries, broken bones and a concussion on one, internal bleeding on another. Nothing, no matter how hard Steve looked, said anything about full on rape, but the pictures said Obadiah hadn’t been far off from it.

“Tony, why do you have these?” He asked gently, tightening his grip in him. “Why didn’t you just get rid of them?”

“B-because… B-because I deserved it,” Tony choked. “I did. I had no purpose. He s-said so.”

“Hey look at me,” Steve shifted Tony so he could see his face. “Look at me, Tony. That’s bullshit. You didn’t deserve any of it. No one deserves that. And you have a-”

“You d-don’t know, Steve. You don’t. I needed a purpose, to be good at something. And all I was g-good at was fucking everything up.” Tony choked on a sob and struggled to breathe. “I was useless. I am useless. And I’m ruined. He made sure I was so fucked up no one would want me.

“Shush, that’s not true, Tony. That’s not true.”

“I’m ruined.” Tony’s grip on Steve’s shirt tightened. “No one wants damaged fucking goods.”

“I do.”

He stopped shaking in Steve’s arms, his breath catching in his chest, eyes red and wide. “W-what?”

“I want you Tony, no matter what’s happened. You have a purpose for me, ok?” Steve ran his hand over Tony’s dark hair, forehead pressed against his as he whispered. “I don’t care what Obadiah said. I think you matter. You matter to me. And you could never be damaged goods because someone will always want you, I will always want you.”

“n-no you won’t.” Tony shook his head. “You’ll leave, they always leave.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere. I promise, ok? I’ll stay right here. I promise.”

Steve pushed the photos off the mattress and gathered Tony up so they could lie down, Steve kicking off his shoes as Tony huddled against his chest, still shaking with sobs, head resting on Steve’s bicep as they rolled to their sides.

“I’m not going away, Tony. I’ll always have you, it’s alright.” Steve whispered again and again until Tony’s breathing started to settled and most of the sobs had subsided, leaving him to sniffle and whimper against Steve’s chest.

“Y-you don’t have to,” Tony muttered weakly.

“Yes I do.” Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You need me.”

“I’ll b-be fine.”

“I know you will. I’m just going to stay and make sure that happens.” Steve smiled and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. “You don’t need to be alone.”

Tony slid up enough to kiss him, soft, slow, and gentle like the first kiss of the night. Nothing more was to come of it, even if Steve had wanted it to. Tony curled back into him, a soft sigh leaving his exhausted body and Steve pulled the blankets over them. It wasn’t long before Tony, sleep deprived and emotionally wrecked, dozed off to sleep, leaving Steve to deal with his own problems, namely the ever growing desire to find Obadiah Stane and smash his face in.

Maybe he could get Professor Logan’s help.

Tony’s lips on his cheek, a light kiss from a half asleep mind, made him smile though and Steve figured they could put off the various revenge schemes until Tony was better.

So instead of plotting the man’s demise, Steve pressed his face into Tony’s dark mop of hair, took a deep breath, and let sleep slowly take him.


End file.
